


Brambles

by QueenHolocene



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-09 22:06:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15277185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenHolocene/pseuds/QueenHolocene
Summary: Very short piece. Death's immediate aftermath.





	Brambles

The road is never quiet. Birdsong, jarring and disparate, echoes around the valley, rings between two hills. One set of feet scuffs at the dust, their owner unwilling to begin but unable to ignore the sun bleeding over the horizon. Frost glistens cheerily in the light, nestled in the scrub along the roadside. It melts at the sudden touch of warm fingers.

A branch breaks with a harsh crack. Someone grimaces and turns away. The one holding the branch carries it only a short distance, gravel crunching beneath her feet. She crouches on the road and lays the brambles on the body’s bare chest. She sniffles and lets her empty fingers stray to the hem of his coat. The weight of it is amazing. It falls away from her hand almost as soon as she’d held it. One of her claws catches on the embroidery. She hiccoughs.

A rough hand lands on her shoulder, the gentle directive to stand up. She watches as the tapestry is unfurled with a loud, awkward flap and settled into the black, sticky mud beside the body.

“Eins, zwei, drei,” and the body is lifted, too neatly, too high. It collapses with a sickening flop against the plush fabric.

“Careful!” One of the handlers juts her chin out at the other, glaring. Her voice is choked and painful to hear.

“He is so light,” says the other, barely audible. The wind interrupts him, billowing his dirt-crusted coat around him.

A cloud passes overhead, draining the color for a moment. The woman speaks again, but the breeze carries her words away. All the others hear is “snow comes.”

The man nods and seizes two corners of the tapestry. The woman holds the other two. The bramble-picker wraps one small hand around the edge near the middle, near the body’s right hand. His rings glint in what’s left of the dawn as he is lifted once more.

Their feet disturb the dust. A cloud of it hangs in the air around the body, gusting and swirling with the movement. The body sways gently, lazily. His tail drags along the road. They crest the rise of the valley as the first flakes of snow find them. It wends through the air to kiss the body’s cheeks, below his open eyes. It does not melt.


End file.
